The Innocent
by Ghostey
Summary: All the Winchesters were innocent in one way or another - at least in each other eyes. To Mary, John was naive. To Mary, Dean was no more than a child. To John, Mary had been perfect. To Dean? Sam was his brother. Spoilers for "In The Beginning" COMPLETE
1. John

**The Innocent**

**John**

Mary felt numb as John helped her up off the ground, maneuvering her away from her father's body. He kept giving her fleeting, nervous glances as he raced the Impala to the Lawrence police station. All the while her mind raced, never settling on a single train of thought.

"Mary?" John asked gently.

She jerked, pulled from her own mind. She somehow was in the station, John was sitting beside her and a few uniformed officers were there with them.

"What happened tonight?" The older officer asked, directed mostly at John.

The young woman looked up sharply, the training her father and mother had forced upon her taking over. She had been trained to lie, to protect their lives with deceit and vague details. "I…" she started, balking as all eyes trained onto her. "My dad… he…"

John held her hand and continued, "We had been by the river. Mister Campbell found us and was trying to bring Mary home. He had been… hurting Mary. When I tried to pull him away from her…" John faltered and Mary watched as he tried to sort out what happened, the confusion evident on his face.

How would she explain what happened? It wasn't as though she could say how the demon had killed John and her mother. Mary panicked as John's tale slowed to an uneasy stop. One officer gave her a piercing glance. John was fine, but around his neck Mary could see the traces of ugly yellow and purple bruises beginning to form. "He… John… after John collapsed my dad came after me. He pulled out his knife and…"

"You were defending yourself," a female officer said, "It's okay Mary, you did the right thing."

"He said he killed my mom!" Mary shouted, tears running down the side of her face. She trembled and John wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm taking Mary home," John said calmly, holding her hand.

"We'll have a patrol sent out to the Campbell's residence. We'll call if we need to speak to you further."

"John I…" Mary said weakly.

He shushed her, kissing her forehead.

The Winchesters lived in one part of small two family home, barely enough to hold the family of three. John was looking for an apartment since returning from Vietnam but so far he didn't have the money for it.

Mary immediately went to John's room after he pulled into the driveway – John was downstairs with his parents. When he finally came upstairs he held her when she cried until there were no more tears to cry. He moved himself into a more comfortable position and as Mary's whimpering slowed he dozed off.

Nestled in John's arms Mary tried to sleep as well, but found only haunting questions in every corner of her mind. She lightly tapped her delicate fingers over his heart, a distracting and nervous tick she had to keep the nightmares at bay, the warmth of his chest against her body.

She stopped fidgeting for a moment, to take in his heartbeat, reassurance with each beat – but when she couldn't feel it, in the small lapses of time that it wasn't there it was as if her own heart stopped. Fearfully, she moved her head slightly to look at her fiancé, and she jumped at what she saw.

_John tried to pry Samuel away from her, "Hey! Take it easy!" Ever the gentleman, ever her knight in shining armor. She watched in horror as her father took John by the chin in one hand, and the gripped the back of the young man's neck with the other. A sickening crack sounded and John crumpled to the ground._

_Mary felt the hot sting of tears gathering in her eyes, the voice in her head repeating, _No, no, this isn't happening… John…_ over and over again. His head rested in her lap, so still… Her father kicked John's body indifferently, Mary completely aware that John hadn't responded. It was as though the world, her world, was simultaneously crystal clear, everything around her in surprising definition but it was all muddy at the same time, with the exception of John lying in his arms so still. Too still._

_He wasn't moving. Where did his smile go? He was supposed to take her away from all this and instead she brought the hunt to him and he was… Mary blinked, and looked up at him, with his cowardly yellow eyes. "You killed him," she choked…_

She knew John had always been a heavy sleeper, so Mary's sudden movement didn't stir him. Instead he continued to slumber, his head lolled to the side. She tensed, and his position reminded her too much of what had happened. "John," she prodded anxiously, holding his hand and shaking him slightly, "John wake up…" Her voice grew unusually shrill, but his eyes were closed, he was unresponsive, his head was too much like… "Johnny…" she said, choking back a sob.

"What is it Mary?" John as groggily, reaching up to rub his eyes.

She knew she was crying, but she didn't care. _He's awake… he's alive…_ she leaned forward and embraced him tightly. Her hand brushed the back of his neck, and she shuddered at the memory and pulled herself away from him abruptly.

"Mary?" He asked tentatively, touching her knee. The young man obviously didn't know what to do, and he was amazed at how well Mary was doing in context. In some way, he felt guilty, that perhaps what had happened was his fault. "Mary, I'm…"

She trembled and looked at him fearfully.

"Mary, I don't…" he paused, unsure of what to say, or how to say it. "I'm sorry…" he said tenderly, moving so his back was to the backboard and he pulled Mary against his chest. She breathed in sync with him and he massaged her shoulders. Carefully he continued, "Mary… what I talked about before. I love you and if you…"

"I love you too," she whispered, interrupting him.

He smiled briefly, and continued, "I know, but what I'm trying to say is that if you… if you're uncomfortable with me or… what I asked you earlier tonight I'd understand if you wanted to wait."

She froze, horrified at what he was stumbling through. _Is he…? _"No John, it's… no. I want to marry you. There's nothing I want more."

John held her closer, his chin resting at the nape of her neck, allowing her blonde hair to brush his face and tickle his ears. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," he confessed.

Mary felt small, and a mix of regret and guilt washed over her. _I couldn't protect _you_ John. I should have told you who I was, what my family did. If I had then maybe you wouldn't have been killed and I wouldn't owe anything to that demon._ She debated telling him what had happened, not that bullshit the cops had fabricated, but the truth. Her whole body shook, but his chest rose and fell in unity with hers, calming her and making them one. Together… they were together, he was alive and her soul was intact.

She tried to convince herself that it was safer for them both, but after tonight… it was more selfishness than anything else. If John knew… then he wouldn't be what she wanted. He'd still be the warm chest that held her, but it would be different, he wouldn't be innocent anymore.

They both fell asleep like that, John unwittingly and suddenly a player in something much greater than himself and Mary taking a step out of that world, and into the light.

--

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't owned by me, sadly… I still cry at night because of that one.

**Leave a review!**


	2. Dean

**Dean**

The following morning, Mary borrowed a lacy sundress from John's mother because she hadn't gone back to her own house… she didn't want to. She couldn't imagine seeing where her mother was murdered by the hands of her husband… or at least the demon that had been wearing his skin. The dress itself paisley and white, although Mary felt dirty and unclean – a woman baptized into a new life not by water but by blood.

John had blushed at her when she came downstairs and offered her coffee and breakfast. It was quiet in the Winchester home, and Mary was keenly reminded of the difference between their two families. The Winchesters were blue-collar everymen, their house the picture of working class Americana. She felt out of place and picked at her food awkwardly. It's what she always wanted, but now it was at her fingertips and she mourned the loss that allowed her to achieve it.

Her fiancé noticed this and he looked at her calmly, "You need something Mary?"

Her stomach clinched and she placed her hand over it. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said faintly.

John immediately helped her to the couch and sat down beside her. "We don't have to do this today Mary. You can take as much time as you need…" he reassured her.

Mary shook her head vehemently, knowing that she needed to… needed to do what? She blinked at John, he was all she needed now, and he was all she had. "No, I want to do this."

He drew in a breath, letting it go slowly. John squeezed her knee, "I'll be with you the whole time if you need me. My mom knows the… ummm… funeral director and so…" He stopped, struggling to find the words to say.

She nodded meekly and stood up with him. John went to the coat closet by the front door, and pulled out two coats for them. One was her own he had hung up the night before and one was a leather jacket Mary had never seen before. She watched him as he put it on, the way it rested on his shoulders and the way he popped the collar in the back… just as…

The night before… these past few days… the man, the other hunter she had met was wearing the same one, or at least one just like it. "Where did you get that?" Mary asked curiously.

"This? I bought it a few weeks ago. Not long after I got back." He suddenly looked very self-conscious and looked himself over, "You don't think it's inappropriate do you? I can change into something else."

"No, it's fine John," she smiled, "You're perfect."

Mary had tried, she had, but it seemed she couldn't get those nights out of her head. Occasionally she still had panic attacks while that John just sleeping, and in her own dreams she replayed his death over and over until John woke her up. It wasn't always her father snapping his neck either, sometimes it was a black dog or some other demon. Sometimes he would just collapse and Mary wouldn't be able to wake him up. More and more though it was fire. The brightest, most brilliant flames she had ever imagined, but in the center of it all would be John. She would cry, and he would ask why, but she couldn't tell him.

She couldn't escape it anyway, in five years that had passed she had married John and he had started his own business with a friend of his. But it was always in the back of her mind – the deal she made, and the hunter who vanished soon afterwards. Those years brought wild thoughts and theories to the young woman, many of which she dismissed just as quickly as they came, but he _knew_ her and above all else she knew that her deal was important.

1983… ten years… the connection was there, but Mary didn't know what it was.

There was a new woman in town, and her cousin told her that she was the real deal. One day, with a thought gnawing on her mind she screwed herself up to go see her. John was at the garage and Mary didn't have any chores to do so it was a good opportunity to visit the woman. She grabbed John's jacket from his closest, and marched out the front door.

The woman wasn't hard to find, sitting at a booth in the local diner. The black woman looked a few years younger than her and she seemed to regard Mary passively.

"Mary Winchester, it's nice to meet you. I'm Missouri Mosely."

"Tell me something about the owner of this jacket," she demanded, tossing it on Missouri's lap, taking the bench opposite of the psychic.

"You mean besides the fact you think it was, or _will_ be owned by an angel?"

Mary nodded curtly.

"Certainly no angel, Missy," Missouri scoffed, "Just that cute husband of yours."

"I thought you were psychic," Mary said impatiently.

"Baby I am," the woman protested, "Just because I can see things others can't doesn't mean I can see the future."

"Dean said something about 1983… that has to mean something. He _knew_ about the demon, he _knew_ something about five years from now." Mary said with a growing edge to her voice.

Missouri frowned thoughtfully, "You said his name was Dean? Wasn't your mother named Deanna?"

"Yeah why?"

The psychic closed her eyes and drew in a sharp breath. She waded through the volatile mix of emotions Mary had gone through before a scene formed in her mind. The boy was cute, that much was sure… but there was something else too.

"_You know the worst thing I can think of? The very worst thing? Is for my children to be raised into this like I was. Well I won't let that happen."_

Missouri's eyes snapped open, a single string of thoughts from the man fresh on her mind. Raw emotion of regret and sadness, like the realization of a horrible fate. That Mary wouldn't get that wish. That she was wrong. And she was the reason.

It was undeniable and instantly Missouri wished she didn't know. She looked at Mary sadly, the young blonde woman already with heavy sadness on her heart. It would break her, the psychic feared, so she held her tongue and lied, "I'm sorry honey, I don't know who the boy was."

"I'm going to find out who and where he is," Mary said adamantly, more to herself than anyone else. She stood up, taking the jacket from Missouri. "I'll turn over every damn leaf if I have to."

Missouri stood alongside her, "Mary baby, Dean's not here. I don't think he was even there in the first place… maybe he _is_ your own angel trying to protect you because it seems he certainly tried that night." She laid a hand on Mary's shoulder, a whisper of emotion tingling her fingers and her palm. Missouri raised her eyebrow and asked, "Are you pregnant Mary?"

"What?" Mary asked in return, just as surprised as Missouri was. "No, I'm not… I mean… John and I are trying but…"

Missouri sighed sadly, "It's gonna be a boy. And he's going to be just like your angel when he grows up."

"My children aren't going to be hunters," Mary promised, her eyes narrowing. She paused, "And I thought you couldn't see the future?"

Missouri smiled and deflected by saying, "I think you better go find yourself a pregnancy test, although I'm pretty sure." Missouri gathered her own coat, placed money on the table for her food and left Mary there.

Mary touched her abdomen, wondering if there was truth to the psychic's words. Pulling her hand back she saw she was shaking. Her own little angel. Hadn't she prayed for this for months? Years? Before… before everything happened? For a moment she wondered if this was a sign for her to finally move on, after all, she was going to have a baby? Proof of a new life, one created by her and… and the man she brought back from the dead – not just a new life for her and John but for their son.

She looked at the jacket, praying that the hazel-eyed man would watch over her child.

She had gone home with an armful of tests, although in her experience she figured the psychic was telling the truth. Systematically using each test, she grew more and more anxious. Euphoria mixed with anticipation and fear, the second hand on the clock moving too slowly to when John would be home.

Finally when she couldn't take it anymore she called John at the garage. Her husband's gruff but warm voice answered. "Hey John," she twisted the phone's cord around her finger nervously, "Can you come home early today?"

Instantly John's voiced changed to a hurried anxiety, "Is everything alright Mary?"

"Yes, I mean, I hope… I don't know," She sighed, she didn't want to tell him over the phone… "Just, I want you home…"

John paused for a second before replying, "I'll be right there."

Mary stood up from the couch when John walked through the door. He immediately tensed but she smiled at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Mary?"

"John," she sighed happily. He walked over to her, and held her shoulders. She opened up her palm, holding up a pregnancy test for John to see.

"Is that…?"

She nodded. John broke out into the widest smile she had ever seen on him. He held her chin and kissed her. They both laughed as John lifted her up and spun her around.

"My God Mary… when did you…? This is…"

"Wonderful?" She asked. He kissed her again.

"Do we need to go to the doctor? Should we call your uncle and cousin? God Mary this…" He collapsed on the couch. "Holy crap," he sighed.

She curled up beside him, placing her hand on her husband's heart as she always did, an unconscious reassurance for her. The pulse was fast and strong. She smiled as he returned the gesture, before he slid his hand down her body to her stomach. Mary held his hand there, grateful for John, grateful for her unborn child.

He would have everything she ever wanted for him. She would spare him the pain and heartbreak she had as a child. Just like for her husband, Mary wanted to be a shield against the things that threatened to take her family away. He wouldn't know fear or suffer the same loss, just love.

"I love you Mary," John said softly.

"I love you too John." She looked her husband in the eyes, the light catching them so the flecks of gold and green were brilliant against light brown. "It's going to be a boy," she said firmly.

"Just like that?" John laughed, "You know that already? Is he also going to be six feet tall and captain of the baseball team?"

"Yeah…" Mary sighed happily.

"We'll see," John replied, lacing his fingers with hers.

--

**Leave a review!** And I'm assuming ya'll know where I'm heading with this. One chapter for each member haha, I'll have "Mary" up in 2-3 days.


	3. Mary

**Mary**

John's eyes stung, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that the burn of tears threatened to overcome him.

However no tears came, just a quiet resolve that he needed to _do_ something. That there was something much bigger at play tonight and he was going to find out _what._ She had been on the ceiling?! _What could_ do_ that? _And why?

_Mary…_

She was his everything, the glue that held them all together. What was he going to do without her? How would he be able to look after the boys on his own? He could feel Dean shift beside him, the four-year-old was probably exhausted beyond imagine and it's not like he had a bed anymore to go to sleep in.

He brushed away the paramedics eager to look him over. The father had been in the house the longest, having Dean rush the infant out of the house as soon as the fire started. John had stayed behind, hoping against reason to help his wife. She was on ceiling, slashed and bleeding, his beautiful perfect wife…

"Mister Winchester… please… you have visible burn marks we need to…"

He waved them off. He'd had worse injuries in Vietnam, hell he had a Purple Heart to show for it – this was nothing.

"Sir…"

The punk ass kid couldn't be more than twenty so John got right up into his face and whispered so his boys couldn't hear, "Listen son, the last thing I care about right now is _myself_. My wife was in there. My sons lost their mother… I'm not…" John faltered raising his hand and then dropping it to his side limply. "I… I can't deal with this right now."

So there he sat on the hood of his car, the same car he had proposed to Mary in a little more than ten years ago. John sighed heavily, clutching the baby closer to him, the weight of his oldest pressed up against his side. He felt Sam move slightly, the six-month old anxious and unaware of their situation would begin to cry if he didn't get sleep soon. John rocked Sam with one arm and used the other to squeeze Dean's shoulder.

"Hold your brother for a moment Dean," John said, handing the infant to his son. Dean took the baby dutifully and gave John a somber stare. John went to the back seat of the Impala, and nestled in between the boys' car seats was John's leather jacket. Grabbing it, he went back up to the front and placed it over Dean's shoulders – the four year old was only in his pajamas after all and John knew that Dean wouldn't have said something regardless of how cold he was.

Dean was engulfed by the jacket but John had a momentary smile pass his face. His little man… Mary loved that jacket, she often said it was her favorite of John's despite its age and just as often said that when Dean grew up she imagined he would be a very handsome young man in it, just like his father.

"Where's Mommy?" Dean finally asked, Sammy wiggling in his arms and reaching out at John.

And… and John didn't know what to say. He took Sammy back from Dean and kissed the top of Dean's head.

One of the paramedics that John hadn't already chastised approached the father with trepidation. "Mister Winchester, we're going to insist you come to the hospital to clean those burns and check your lungs. If not for yourself then for your boys." She paused when he glared at her before continuing bravely, "Small children are more susceptible to smoke inhalation and damage. Even if the boys were only in the fire a short while…"

"I get it," John surrendered gruffly. He stood up and picked up Dean from the hood, with both boys in his arms he made his way to the ambulance.

The following day John was allowed back into the house, leaving the boys at the hospital. At least, into what was left of the house. Most of the upstairs had been gutted by fire – Sam's nursery, Dean's room and most of the hallway leading to John and Mary's master. The downstairs was relatively untouched except for smoke damage. John trudged through, picking up various little things of no importance.

His hands were heavily bandaged as were most of his forearms, which made it difficult to pick at the dusty items, but John knew he had to… he had to go through this for Mary. For his boys.

These little trinkets now meant everything to the father. It was early November, and the weather was just starting to get cold enough to justify hot cocoa. He picked up one of the mugs left on their coffee table, left there absently, as an unremembered chore by the oldest Winchester. How many hours ago had Mary been drinking from this? Did she know John was stealing moments to give Dean some?

_Mary stood over the stove top, stirring the milk. John kissed her neck and massaged her shoulders, "Smells good," he told her._

_She shrugged him off lightheartedly, "Come on now John. It'll be done in a few minutes. You should be watching Sammy and Dean."_

"_I know, I know," he confessed, stealing one more kiss. John turned to the infant and began unbuckling him from the high chair. Sammy giggled when John started to tickle him, waving his hands around. Dean was beside him watching his father play with his baby brother with wide hazel eyes. _

"_John…" Mary warned playfully. She looked up suddenly, as John lifted Sam out of the high chair and held him close to his chest. "What's today's date?" _

_John frowned, "Wednesday? I took tomorrow off so I could take Dean to the park when you and Sam go to the doctor's."_

_Dean smiled, "We're going to the park? Are we going to play catch Daddy?"_

_Mary hushed Dean, "I mean the date John. The _date_ date."_

"_You have a boyfriend you plan on seeing?" John asked jovially. When she gave him the eye he said seriously, "The second or third? Maybe?"_

"_Oh," Mary replied wistfully. She pulled out two mugs for her and John, the odd melancholy passing from her face, "Do you want anything in your cocoa John?"_

_Dean looked at his father, a wide grin plastered on the four-year-olds face. "Extra cocoa?" John asked, his oldest son nodding happily at the suggestion._

"_Dean it's past both you and your brother's bedtime. I'll make cocoa for you tomorrow," Mary smiled. She then raised an eyebrow to John, "I don't want to catch you giving him any of yours either dear."_

"_What she doesn't know can't hurt her," John whispered to Dean just loudly enough for Mary to hear, a mischievous smile on his face._

John put the mug back on the table, frowning. As he collected other things – pictures, Dean's fire engine, small things like that – he thought that his wife didn't deserve this, _none_ of them did. What had she done to deserve such a…?

He choked on the word, and collapsed near the fireplace. Pushed up against the wall, he hugged a picture of he and Mary close to his chest and wept.

--

**Leave a review!**


	4. Sam

**Sam**

"_I couldn't stop any of it. She still made the deal… and she still died in the nursery didn't she?"_

"_Don't be too hard on yourself. You couldn't have stopped it."_

"_What?"_

"_Destiny can't be changed Dean. All roads lead to the same destination."_

"_Then why'd you send me back?"_

"_For the truth. Now you know everything we do."_

"_What the hell are you talking about?"_

…

"_Where's Sam?"_

"_We know what Azazael did to your brother, what we don't know is _why_. What his _endgame_ is. He went to great lengths to cover that up."_

"Where's Sam_?"_

"_425 Waterman."_

…

"_Your brother is heading down a dangerous road Dean, and we're not sure where it leads… so stop it. _Or we will._"_

Dean wasn't surprised when Castiel appeared in the rearview mirror of the Impala. The angel was getting more and more ballsy in his appearances and frankly Dean was getting tired of it. Glaring at the angel momentarily, Dean returned to watching the road, turning the volume up out of spite. _I'm sorry. I can't hear you, the music's too loud._

Castiel sat there patiently, turning his own gaze to the passing countryside.

When Dean noticed that Castiel wasn't going away, and that he was stuck with the angel, he lowered the volume. "What do you want?" He snarled, a biting edge to his voice. His patience was wearing on Dean, and after what he had said that night? Dean practically growled.

"I'm enjoying the Pink Floyd obviously," Castiel replied flatly.

Dean stopped the tape abruptly. He threw it in the cardboard box where Sam _should_ have been, but wasn't. Sam was… Sam was doing something, and Dean was sure he wouldn't like it, but Sam had insisted that he was fine – that there was nothing going on.

After all, Sam had just been hunting while Dean was away – not using his powers or bargaining with demons. Dean hoped that Sam was just hunting. _Saving people, hunting things._ Less so much the family business though, because after what Dean just saw, the family business included a lot more deals with demons than he originally thought.

Castiel looked at him blankly, stating dryly, "Was that necessary?"

"I'm not really in a giving mood," Dean quipped.

The angel frowned, "You're thinking about your mother. Aren't you?"

_Mary? Mary!_

_Dean jumped out of the car, Colt aimed at his grandfather. He was too late… Mary looked back at him over her shoulder, and Dean wondered if she grasped the whole scoop of what she had just done. He lowered the gun and Mary stared at him._

"_Mom…" he wanted to say, the words on the tip of his tongue but she had looked back at the bodies. One of her father and…_

_John's body jerked. Dean watched the body shift and could hear the young man whisper "Mary?"_

"_John…" she said warmly._

_Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped around to see Castiel standing there. He wanted to scream and punch the angel, lay his heavenly ass on the ground and just yell at him – but the words weren't there, overcome by the gravity of what he had seen over the past few days._

"No shit Sherlock," Dean replied tiredly, "You send me thirty-five years in the past even though there was no way I could change it. You say I can't change destiny and well I think that's a load of crap."

"What happened to your mother and father was… unfortunate."

Dean seethed in muted anger.

"If it makes you feel any sort of comfort neither of them are in hell. When your father…"

"Look, my mother sacrificed her spirit to save Sammy and I. Dad sold his soul for _me._ I didn't deserve it. They didn't deserve that. And most of all? Sam doesn't deserve to be in a freaking tug of war over the universe.

Castiel paused, taking in what Dean had said before choosing to artfully ignore it. "Your mother's spirit may have been destroyed but the soul cannot be. Once your father escaped hell his soul joined her."

"So where are they?" Dean ground out.

"Together, but other than that we don't know. Damned spirits aren't allowed in heaven Dean, you should know that," Castiel paused, before acknowledging, "You're correct in that Sam doesn't necessarily "deserve" his lot but one of the great tragedies of the human race is choice. Your mother chose to bring your father back, just as your father chose to save you."

His blue eyes sparkled in Dean's direction, "Much the same how you brought back Sam. They were all choices. While we condemn the methods in which you all chose to bring the dead back, we admire the depth of your love for your family."

"So what, I get a get out of hell free card?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Didn't the Lord sacrifice himself for all mankind?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"To a lesser extent you did the same. You, your father, your mother, all of you took upon yourself the consequences of the lives you brought back. _You_ are responsible for Sam's continued existence; therefore his decisions are your burdens as well. Had I not taken you from purgatory you would have eventually felt the weight of Judgment Day because _without_ you Sam would've inevitably brought about the apocalypse."

He paused, "You have an opportunity here Dean, to make good on the sacrifices of Mary and John and yourself. If Sam is allowed to continue down this path, then he'd be damning all of you, and the rest of the world with you. We can't have that."

"I'm not going to hurt my brother. I wouldn't do it for my _father_ and I certainly won't do it for you," Dean replied adamantly.

Castiel didn't respond.

Dean choked, "Sammy's a good kid. I… I've done some things but he was always the one to keep me and Dad in check. He wouldn't… do those things to people. He's just a kid, we just lead crappy lives and he's just…"

"Four months is a long time."

"He _wouldn't_. I don't _believe_ you."

"Your infallible faith in your brother is admirable Dean, but misplaced."

Dean turned around to yell at the angel, but Castiel had vanished, leaving Dean alone in the car.

He tightened his grip on the wheel, so much so his knuckles turned white. He looked in the rearview mirror, Castiel's emotionless visage and unchanging blue eyes no longer there. "Freakin…" Dean mumbled, fishing through the box of cassettes for something to listen to. The older Winchester hummed impatiently, studying the passing street signs.

_Waterman…_

"There you are you son of a bitch," he spat. He was going to go get Sam, and then leave. Dean debated telling Sam what had happened – that everything that had happened to them was the result of a deal? That there was _more_ to his "destiny" than just Azazael's _stupid_ demon army?

Dean felt a headache growing behind his eyes and he massaged his forehead. Sammy didn't need to know, because to Dean Sammy was still that twelve year old that walked home with Dean. He was still that innocent little kid who would ask about his mother and Dean would reply that she was perfect, and beautiful, and an angel.

He sighed, flicking in a random tape, drowning his thoughts with the loud music.

--

**Author's Note:** Wanted to get this up before Thursday, because it so neatly fits between episodes. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Thanks for the reviews and alerts and favorites and all sort of kicks and giggles like that.

**Leave a review** if you liked it!


End file.
